


Like Strands of Silk

by peevee



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Chinese Food, Food Sex, M/M, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-14
Updated: 2012-03-14
Packaged: 2017-11-01 23:13:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/362333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peevee/pseuds/peevee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft and Greg enjoy some takeaway, not entirely in the way it was originally intended.</p><p> </p><p>  <i>He felt wonton sliding slickly down his stomach, leaving a sticky shining trail of sauce. Greg's tongue followed the trail, licking delicately down to where the dumpling lay pooled in sweet plum sauce near his navel. Greg's teeth scraped his skin deliciously as he bit the wonton in two, spilling it's contents messily, and Mycroft watched the sauce drip down his chin with a shuddering intake of breath.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Like Strands of Silk

**Author's Note:**

> This is a cleaned up version of a silly fill i made in response to [this thread](http://sherlockbbc-fic.livejournal.com/17249.html?thread=102792289#t102792289) on the rant post of the kink meme, which turned into [this prompt](http://sherlockbbc-fic.livejournal.com/17487.html?thread=102820943#t102820943) on the prompt post.
> 
> I wasn't actually going to post it here, but it kind of grew on me as i was writing it and i thought it deserved a proper home. Enjoy! And don't read if you're hungry...

Mycroft Holmes usually preferred not to text. He found it somewhat distasteful, to reduce human interaction to a series of electronic impulses. When one was ensconced in one of the silent rooms at the Diogenes club, however, it couldn’t be helped. He glanced down at the text he had received a few seconds earlier and felt a shiver thrill down his spine.

**chinese tonight?**

Greg did like to misuse capitalisation, just to vex him. He caressed the keyboard with his thumb before texting back,

_**Yes.** _

 

He picked up the order on his way home from the tiny, steam filled restaurant that was always packed full enough to burst with people eating slippery fragrant wonton stuffed with pork and crunchy green onions, hot spicy-sour soups, sweet little cups of shaved ice flavoured with delicate cherry syrup. The smell had his eyelids fluttering in recollection as soon as he walked in. He gave a cursory look in the bags to check that everything was there, paid, and slipped out, quietly impatient to arrive home as quickly as possible.

 

Mycroft never truly _hurried_ , but his pace was quicker than usual as he stepped from his car and walked through the garden towards the front door. If his driver noticed (and he was paid to notice), he didn’t say anything (he was also paid not to say anything). The bags steamed in his hand as he slipped the key into the lock and turned, taking in the front hall with a sharp eye. Greg was here, had arrived approximately twenty minutes previously (straight from work) (eager), and had shed his clothes on the way to the lounge (this last, he expertly deduced from the pair of dark grey suit trousers, white shirt and underwear strewn like a lewd breadcrumb trail across his hallway floor).

He gently pushed the door to the lounge open, and was greeted by the sight of Greg spread out completely nude on the couch, hands behind his head, with a wicked grin on his lovely mouth.

“Hello, darling,” Greg said, sliding a hand slowly down his chest to rest over his hip. “C’mere.”

Mycroft placed the bags gently on the table then climbed onto the couch, still fully suited, to stretch himself over Greg’s supine form. Greg arched upwards, rubbing himself on the slick fabric of Mycroft’s shirt and bit into his tie with a playful growl. He tugged lightly with his teeth in suggestion.

“Off.”

Mycroft indulged a little longer, moved his legs to straddle slim hips and pinned his shoulders so he could press his mouth hotly to Greg’s, licking softly over his bottom lip and biting gently, sliding his tongue over Greg’s when he opened his mouth to respond. Eventually, not wanting the contents of the bag to get too cold, he reluctantly eased off the couch, shedding his clothes with efficiency as Greg watched dark-eyed.

Greg eased himself down onto the floor (stone, but the under floor heating kept it relatively comfortable) and stretched out, arching in invitation. He didn’t like lying on a towel, said it felt too utilitarian having to keep the resultant mess to such a small area. Mycroft straddled his hips again, carefully not touching him, and opened the first box. 

He scooped two fingers into the sauce, sliding them into his mouth to check the temperature, and then upended the contents directly over Greg’s chest. He pushed Greg backwards, pinning his arms above his head and pressing their mouths together, letting fragrant sauce spill messily from his tongue onto Greg's. Delicate glass noodles adorned Greg's chest like strands of silk, contrasting beautifully with his tanned skin. Mycroft ran his fingers through them, dragging them slowly over his pink nipples, leaning down to bite one softly, licking strands of clear salty noodle into his mouth with a groan.

He sat back up, surveying the tableau before him with satisfaction. Greg’s cock curved out from his body obscenely, pubic hair wet with sauce and pre-come, and Mycroft leaned down again to run his tongue slowly over his stomach, feeling Greg’s cock twitching against his cheek.

“God, Mycroft. Suck me.”

“Soon,” murmured Mycroft against his stomach, dragging his tongue upwards towards those pebbled nipples. He suckled slowly at each of them until Greg was gasping, writhing, hands grasping for purchase on the stone floor. He seemed unsure whether he wanted more or less contact, arching up into the sensation before shivering away. When Mycroft pulled back his nipples were red and swollen, shiny with saliva and sauce. Greg choked on a moan, cock leaking steadily onto his stomach. 

“Fuck. _Fuck._ ”

Mycroft knew he was being unfair, but was unable to stop himself from slowly moving over Greg’s chest, sucking up noodles and swirling his tongue around to catch every last drop of sticky salty sauce, licking a few times over sensitised nipples and down to the crease of Greg’s thigh until he was almost sobbing with want. Taking pity, he eventually moved to Greg’s cock, and without preamble sucked it into his mouth with a moan, everything he had been tasting intensified by the dark sweet musk of scent and flavour. Greg gasped above him, arching upwards and spreading his legs wantonly.

“Oh my god, yes. Fuck, that’s it.” 

Mycroft sleeked his hands down Greg’s still damp sides, brushing softly over the sweet hollows of his hipbones. He sucked hard, relentlessly, flickering his tongue over the sensitive head and dipping into the slit to taste the pre-come there. Greg’s breathing faltered, and he gasped, “Oh, fuck I’m going to come. Oh, oh!” before spilling wetly into Mycroft’s mouth in long hot pulses, his legs shaking, hands clutching at nothing. Mycroft sucked as hard as Greg could take, milking every drop of come as it spilled over his tongue, relishing the taste of it mingled with the sweet lemony coriander and peppery spring onion from the noodles. 

Then he was being pushed over suddenly, Greg leaning over him to reach the bag and pulling out the other box. He shivered in anticipation and lay back on the warm floor, eyes fluttering closed.

He felt wonton sliding slickly down his stomach, leaving a sticky shining trail of sauce. Greg's tongue followed the trail, licking delicately down to where the dumpling lay pooled in sweet plum sauce near his navel. Greg's teeth scraped his skin deliciously as he bit the wonton in two, spilling it's contents messily, and Mycroft watched the sauce drip down his chin with a shuddering intake of breath.

Two, then three more little dumplings followed the first one, each trail of wetness they left prickling his skin with cold. Greg had straddled his hips, mirroring their earlier positions, and moved his hands to smear the deep purple sauce over the pale furred skin of Mycroft's chest. He leaned down, keeping his eyes on Mycroft’s face, and delicately took each wonton into his mouth, rubbing his face into Mycroft’s belly. Mycroft watched the movements of Greg’s throat as he swallowed, wanted to lick the golden column of his neck. Greg placed a wonton on Mycroft’s slightly parted mouth and bent over to lick it off, turning the movement into a deep, filthy-wet kiss that had them both moaning. Mycroft pulled him down, pressing their bellies together and getting sticky sauce everywhere. The slippery feel of it on Greg’s stomach felt _exquisite_ on his cock, and he arched upwards, trying to get more. 

Greg leaned up, scooping some more of the sweet plum sauce onto his fingers and, with a painterly flourish, daubed it onto the soft peaks of his nipples. Mycroft groaned helplessly,

“ _Fuck_ , Greg”

“God, I love it when you swear. Your filthy mouth is gorgeous.” Greg flicked one of his fingers, making sparks of hot pleasure pool in Mycroft’s belly.

“Oh, then _fuck me with your fingers and some of that luscious sauce_ ; I want to feel it slippery over them as you push into me.”

Greg’s eyelids fluttered and his breath blew out in a shuddering sigh,

“Jesus, yes, okay.”

He dragged his two fingers down, past Mycroft’s twitching cock and back to slide slickly over his heated skin. Mycroft spread his legs, arched his hips up, and in one co-ordinated move Greg swallowed his cock down and pushed two slick fingers into him. The feel of it had Mycroft gasping, the sweet stretch of Greg’s fingers moving slowly inside him, the hot little flicks of his soft pointed tongue over the head of his cock. All he could do was shudder helplessly on the floor. 

He felt some of the sauce on his chest trickle down his side, and caught it with his fingers as it slid over his ribs. He pushed his fingers into his mouth at the same moment as Greg crooked his fingers up just so, there was an explosion of sweet rich plum on his tongue and then he was coming _hard_ , moaning around his fingers and feeling Greg swallow around him, still stroking gently inside him as Mycroft shuddered and gasped. 

Eventually Greg pulled off his cock, licking his lips obscenely, and pulled his fingers gently from Mycroft’s body. Mycroft sat up slowly, grabbed him around his waist and licked into his mouth, mingling the taste of sweet plum with the salty flavour of come.

“Mmm. Bath?” mumbled Greg against his mouth.

Mycroft pressed kisses down Greg’s neck with a sigh,

“If you track plum sauce onto my carpets I’ll have you assassinated.”


End file.
